The Men of Thorne Island (17 page)

“Hey, it’s a nice one,” Nick said blandly.

“Nick, this tiger—it’s not… I mean it’s too large, so it couldn’t be…”

“Gold?” he finished for her. “Mother would never send anything less.”

“And the eyes?”

He took the cane and examined the glittering jewels. “Let’s see, she’s in South Africa. They’re diamonds.”

Sara slumped into a chair. “Oh, my God, diamonds. I’ve never even seen rhinestones that huge!”

Nick slid off the bed and carried the cane to his closet. “Yep, it’s pretty sweet.”

“That’s all you can say, ‘It’s pretty sweet’?”

“I don’t know that it’s my favorite.” He opened the closet door, and hanging from hooks on the inside were four other equally grand walking sticks. “All of these are sweet,” he said.

Sara could only stare. Outside of a museum, she’d never seen such magnificence. Each cane was unique in design and obviously exorbitant in quality and value. She looked at the newest offering as he hung it next to its companions. “I can’t believe you left this lying on the counter downstairs. These pieces should be in a vault.”

He gave her a look that she found extremely smug. “Why? Who’s going to steal them? It’s not like anybody knows they’re here—except the guys and now you.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “And I’m beginning to trust you.”

“You know what I mean, Bass. These are priceless treasures from your mother.”

“Yes, and I appreciate the thought, but the truth is, she sends me these canes because she can’t think of anything else to give me.” He turned away from Sara and walked across the room. “My mother has always had a hard time dealing with my injury. She had a hard time accepting the occupation that resulted in it, too.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Sara countered. “What an insensitive woman not to support the son who robs banks for a living.”

He smiled, but offered no rebuttal. “The point is, these expensive gifts are her way of saying she’s sorry about what happened, but she really can’t deal with
it. I understand that. Last year I told her I didn’t need any more canes. I was okay. But—” he ran his hand down the shaft of the latest addition “—I don’t think my mother knows me well enough these days to come up with a different idea. And that’s really my fault, not hers.”

“I think that’s sad,” Sara said. She walked back to the packaging to pick up the discarded paper. An envelope fell out of the box. “There’s something else. A card.”

“Oh, yeah, she always sends a card. Go ahead, open it.”

Sara thrust it at him. “I am
not
going to open your card. It’s much too personal.”

He shook his head. “It’s not personal, I guarantee you. Besides, are you the same woman who snuck into my room and went through my most private possessions? And now you won’t even open an envelope when I give you permission.”

The man had a point. “Fine, I’ll open it,” she said grudgingly.

When she pulled the card out, a credit card slipped to the bed. It was a Platinum Visa in Nick’s name.

Nick grabbed it up quickly. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. My yearly credit card.” He reached into his nightstand drawer, pulled out a pair of scissors and snipped the card in two. Then he jerked his thumb at the greeting card in Sara’s hand. “Read what she says. Read it aloud.”

Sara had to remind herself that nothing Nick did should surprise her. “‘Darling,’” she began when she found her voice, “‘please use this to buy a plane ticket to Paris. I’ll be there the last week of May and would love to show you the sights. You know what
they say about Paris in the spring. Who knows? Maybe you’ll fall in love.’”

Sara looked up at Nick and found his expression flat. “She signs it, ‘Kisses, Mom.’”

He threw the pieces of plastic into the wastebasket. “Nice invitation, but I think I’ll pass.”

Nick’s decision made Sara more curious about his past than ever. That, and the fact that she’d just made passionate love with the man, made her blurt out her next words. “Nick, have you ever been in love?”

He chuckled. “Oh, sure, dozens of times. Sometimes with more than one woman at a time.”

Sara gasped. That was his answer? How could he say such a thing to her after what they’d just done on the floor of the parlor? Hadn’t it meant anything to him?

He lay back on his bed and grinned at her. “You know, Sara, I’m feeling pretty darn good right now. No aches, no pains, and a fully charged battery. And you look so damn sexy standing there…”

She threw the greeting card at him. “That’s great, Nick. But think about this. We almost got it right tonight. Almost. But I’m feeling a pain myself right now. If you want to know where it is, just watch my backside as I walk out the door!”

A
FTER A FITFUL
night’s sleep, Nick awoke to utter silence. No hammering. No sawing. No bickering. Obviously no repairs in progress. Something was wrong on Thorne Island, and Nick figured he’d have to face the island’s problems, as well as the big one he’d created for himself the night before.

He’d made a serious blunder with Sara. He’d been joking of course, but Sara had taken him seriously. Now he wondered if all the charm he could muster would get him out of it. Plus, his leftover pains—reminders of the wildly passionate encounter on the parlor floor—only made the situation worse. Sitting up in bed, he had to smile. Hell, the pain was a small price to pay. He’d meet Sara on the floor again in a minute. If she was speaking to him.

He limped to the bathroom and noticed Sara’s door was closed. She probably wasn’t up yet. Just the thought of her slim, silky body nestled between the sheets sent waves of desire through his protesting body. Some time ago, because he liked the idea, he’d convinced himself that she slept naked. Yes, he’d have to make things right with her pretty quickly. He couldn’t accept any off-limits restrictions now that he’d made love to her. He couldn’t imagine not touching her again. In one night, Sara had made him feel like more of a man than he’d felt in years.

When he came out of the bathroom, he considered starting the reconciliation right away. He could open her door, slip inside and watch the first light of day shimmer over her sleeping form. He could bend over and kiss her awake, and then her arms would reach out for him and draw him under the covers for an unforgettable hour of make-up sex.

Or she could strike out with a fist and shove him on his keester.

Remembering the way Sara had been last night, the way she’d sashayed out the door in a huff, Nick decided the odds might not be in his favor. “Better take things slow, Romano,” he told himself as he proceeded to the kitchen unsatisfied. “You’ve got some serious kissing
up
to do before you can do some serious kissing.”

With a cup of coffee in his hand, Nick set off to find his buddies. Sara’s mood wasn’t going to improve any if the boys had suddenly called a strike and weren’t working today. It was to his advantage to get them back on the job. He met Ryan on the way to Brody’s cottage.

“I was just coming to get you,” Ryan said. “Brody wants to have a meeting.”

“Oh, Lord, I was afraid of that,” Nick said. “He’s in a mood, is he?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Brody was behind the bulwark of his counter when Nick and Ryan arrived. He glared at Nick. “I’m surprised you could get up this morning,” he barked.

“It wasn’t easy,” Nick said.

“You want to tell us about that little scene over at the inn last night?” Brody’s words dripped with venom.

“What little scene would that be, Brody?”

“The one that included all the fancy lights in the fancy dining room, and a special delivery from Put-in-Bay. Winkie won’t leave the Happy Angler for a week because of all the money he made yesterday!”

Nick wondered just how much of the “scene” Brody had witnessed, but he dismissed his concern quickly. Even Brody wouldn’t get his kicks out of watching someone else’s fun through a parlor window. “Not that it’s any of your business, Brody, but I arranged a little dinner for Sara last night. That’s all there was to it.”

“The hell it was! I can imagine where your little wine and dine led—probably upstairs for some mattress high jinks!”

Mattress high jinks? It was all Nick could do to remain serious in the face of Brody’s wrath.

“But the worst part is,” Brody continued, “you’re consorting with the enemy, entertaining her like she was queen of Thorne Island, for Pete’s sake, instead of the conniving Mata Hari she is. You’ve got some explaining to do, Nick. Me and the guys don’t appreciate you being a turncoat.”

Nick exploded. “Cut the crap, Brody! This isn’t a war with enemies and turncoats. Sara’s been plenty fair with us. Hell, she could have hired a lawyer and tossed our butts off this island the first day if she’d wanted to. But she didn’t. She went along with our plan to let us repair the inn ourselves. She fixed a big dinner to say thanks.

“Look around you. Until Sara got here, we were stuck in boring ruts. The seasons came and went and we stayed mired in our own complacency. Now we’re
actually talking, working together and accomplishing something for the first time in years.”

Nick realized he’d jumped on a soapbox, but he couldn’t stop now. Sara
had
made a difference in their lives, a big difference. And she deserved to be treated with a little respect.

“Look at Ryan. He’s happier than he’s been for ages now that he has those vines to look after. And you and Dexter are arguing over whose contributions to the island are more important, and that’s because you suddenly have pride in the outcome. That’s what we’ve been missing around here. Pride. And purpose. And Sara’s given them both back to us.”

Dexter and Ryan nodded their heads slowly in agreement, but Brody continued to glare at Nick. “Yeah, and I bet she’s given you a whole lot more than that!”

Nick pounded his fist on the counter, sending Brody jumping back a few steps. “That’s none of your business, and I’ll be damned if I’ll defend myself to you!”

Brody shook his fist in the air, though he stayed far behind the counter. “Yeah, well you’re a traitor, Nick, plain and simple. You sold yourself to the first tight—”

Something in Nick’s expression must have made Brody cut short his tirade because he stopped midsentence. It was a good thing, too, because Nick’s fist had coiled into a weapon at his side, and he was very close to using it.

“You know what you are, Brody?” Nick said. “You’re a miserable old coot who hasn’t had a happy day since you made your first million. You’ve clung to your bank balance like a lifeline, never spending
any of it, never sharing it. You’ve alienated your kid and everyone in your life, and for what? To sell groceries and dig for treasure you’re not even sure exists.”

Nick laughed bitterly. “You want to know what’s funny? You call that business you started Good Company Hygiene Products. That’s quite a name for a guy who doesn’t know what it means to
be
good company.” Nick looked at all three men one at a time, then returned his gaze to Brody. “But life’s full of little ironies, isn’t it, boys?”

He headed for the door. “I’m going to work. Alone or with the rest of you. Have it your way.”

As he went down the walkway, he heard Brody shout after him. “I paid for those ceiling fans with my money!”

Nick just shook his head. He was really close to giving up on Brody. But maybe he could try one more thing. It was time for one of his phone calls to Junior.

N
ICK LOOKED UP
at Sara’s window as he approached the inn. The shutters were open. She was up.

He walked around to the rear of the building, figuring she’d be in the kitchen. “As long as you’re on a roll, why stop now?” he said to himself, abandoning his previous plan to go slowly where Sara was concerned.

When he reached the bottom of the porch steps, he looked through the screen door. There she was, her back to him, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Facing Brody was easy,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “Now let’s see what you’re really made of, Romano.”

He opened the screen door just a few inches so it
wouldn’t make any noise and squeezed his body inside. Then, glad he’d worn his old moccasins, he tiptoed over to Sara. He knew she hated to be scared, but he couldn’t give her time to stockpile any more ammunition against him than she probably already had.

He stopped a couple of feet behind her. Her hair was piled on top of her head, leaving strands trailing down her neck. Short cutoffs provided a tempting view of her gorgeous legs. He reached for her with both hands, thinking to circle her waist over her yellow knit top.

She raised a butter knife in the air. “Touch me and I’ll gut you, Bass.”

He pulled his hands away and clasped them behind his back. “Good morning, Sara,” he chirped. Then he stepped around, leaned on the counter and looked at her. “I see we haven’t exactly decided to let bygones be bygones, have we?”

She picked up her coffee and pivoted away from him. “No,
we
haven’t.”

She went outside and he followed. She sat on the bottom porch step and he sat beside her. She inched away from him and he inched closer. She stared at the trees. He stared at her profile.

“So how long?” he asked.

“How long what?”

“Until I can touch you again.”

Finally she looked at him. It was a start.

“You know, Bass, it is absolutely astounding to me that a guy with as much nerve as you have could live as a hermit on this island. I would think you’d be just dying to show the world your incredible charms.”

He grinned like a little boy. At least he hoped it looked innocent. “I only care about showing you my charms, Sara.”

Sardonic laughter sputtered from her mouth. “Oh, I’ve seen. I’ve seen. What about all those dozens of women you’ve been in love with? Why deprive them?”

He raised his hands, palms up. “It was a joke, Sara!”

She nodded her head slightly, a gesture that said she wasn’t buying it. “I see. Maybe I would have found it funny at some time, Nick. But right after making love to you, it just didn’t seem that humorous.”

“All right. I’m an insensitive clod.”

She blew a breath between her lips as if to say he’d get no argument from her.

“Look, I know it’s not a news flash,” he said. “I blurt things out without thinking how they’re going to sound. I’m sorry. I really am.” He inched a little closer. “Can I lay my hand on your knee? I promise I won’t go any higher.”

Her lips pulled down in a sort of frown, but she raised her coffee mug to her mouth, removing her elbow from the requested knee. He quickly claimed it before she changed her mind.

“Last night was wonderful, Sara,” he said.

She flashed him a squinty-eyed glare.

“Don’t do that! I’m being serious. I can’t get you out of my mind. You don’t know what it took for me to stay in my room last night. I wanted to break down your door and come in and plant little apology kisses all over your face and write little I’m-sorry messages
all over your beautiful naked body with my fingers, and—”

“Why would you have broken down my door?” she asked.

“Huh?”

She set down her mug and stared at the trees again. “It wasn’t locked, you idiot.”

His fingers walked slowly up her thigh to sneak under the ragged fringe of her shorts. When she turned her head to look at him, his mouth was waiting.

W
HY FIGHT IT
, S
ARA
?
she asked herself as his lips teased hers. She had less than a week left on Thorne Island, and despite the risk to her heart, she wanted to take as many memories of Nick Bass with her as possible. He made her senses spiral to new heights while her mind abandoned every notion of self-preservation it had ever had. He’s a man who speaks without thinking and thinks without logic. But she couldn’t stay mad at him because she couldn’t stay away from him.

His mouth moved up her neck to tantalize her earlobe. “I’d like nothing more than to keep doing this,” he said. “But I told the boys I’d be working on the inn.”

She pressed her finger against the basketball on his Cavaliers T-shirt and pushed him away. “Don’t let me keep you.”

He grinned wickedly and jerked his thumb toward the door. “We could go inside. I’ll say I suddenly got this pain in my leg…”

She gave him one of the reprimanding looks he’d gotten used to. “No, Bass.”

He stood up and reached for the screen door. “Okay, you’re one of those business-before-pleasure types. That’s all right. I have all day to think about the pleasure, and all night to see if expectations live up to it.”

She waved him away with pretended impatience.

He snapped his fingers. “Oh, by the way, speaking of business, I decided to do something right today.”

“Must have been a stretch for you.”

“No, really. I’m going to call Brody’s son and invite him here.”

Almost nothing could have surprised her more. For some reason she’d imagined Brody growing up with wolves. She couldn’t visualize him fathering a child. “Brody has family?”

“He doesn’t have a wife anymore, for obvious reasons. But he does have a son.”

An image of a short, pudgy curmudgeon the spitting image of his father sprang to Sara’s mind. “Where is he?”

“Pennsylvania. Brody disowned him after the kid borrowed money and didn’t pay it back.”

Sara snickered. “Hardly Father-of-the-Year material, is he? How do you know how to reach the son?”

“I made Brody give me Junior’s number one time when the old man got so worked up over something his face turned beet-red. I thought he was having a heart attack. He wasn’t. It was just his natural coloring. Anyhow, I told him I needed someone to contact to remove his body just in case. He finally gave me the information but made me swear I wouldn’t call the kid.”

“But you did, anyway.”

“Of course. He turned out okay, but Brody won’t
give him a break. He’s got a good job. He’s responsible, but Brody’s too stubborn to notice. I call Junior several times a year. And Junior really cares about the old guy. Anyway, if I can use your cell phone later, I’ll give him a call and tell him to get over here. It’s time.”

So Nick, who’d accused Sara of interfering and wanting to change things, was about to violate one of the sacred trusts of Thorne Island manhood. “So, will Brody be happy about this?”

“Happy? He’ll be madder than hell. Probably try to run me over with the golf cart. But he pretty much wants to do that today, anyway. I think he’ll get used to the idea once Carl gets here. He’ll finally see that Junior isn’t after his money.”

“A bold move, Commander.”

He smiled and started to go inside, but Sara stopped him. “Wait a minute. As long as we’re on this subject, what about Dexter and his situation?”

Nick’s brows furrowed. “What situation? He’s happy.”

“How can you say that? He’s miserable. Until the inn project came up, he spent all his time watching television. I’ve seen the notebook he carries around—the one with all the
x
’s and
o
’s on it. He’s obsessed with football plays. And watch his eyes. A fighting instinct lies beneath that teddy-bear exterior. He looks like he wants to ram his shoulder into someone’s solar plexus. He wants football, Nick. He needs it.”